There are nights when silence is unbearable.
Adrian knew this silence—it pressed on his skull, hammered in his chest, demanded answers he didn't want to face. The house was too still, and yet his heart raced as if chased by wolves.
Selene had not come to him. Not tonight.
Instead, he had seen her shadow vanish down the corridor when the laughter died, when the last of the wine had been drained. She had passed him without a word. Her eyes—oh, those eyes—cut him as if he were no one, less than no one.
And Adrian… he followed her. Of course he did.
He told himself it was curiosity. He lied. He knew it. He was a fool, a weak man, a man who could not stand still when temptation pulled at his veins.
Down the corridor, doors loomed on either side. The house was a labyrinth, endless, merciless. He lost her once, thought she had slipped away for good, and in that moment he hated her. Hated her with the fire of someone who cannot bear to be ignored.
And then—laughter.
Soft, muffled, behind a half-closed door.
His chest went cold. His hand shook on the handle. He shouldn't open it. He shouldn't. But the door was already yielding beneath his palm.
Inside: Selene.
Not alone.
Another man? No—no, it was Liora, her hair spilling across Selene's shoulder as they sat too close, spoke too low, their hands brushing. It was not what Adrian had expected, and that made it worse, infinitely worse. His heart tore open, not with betrayal but with something stranger—confusion, jealousy sharpened into something poisonous.
Selene glanced up, saw him. A flicker, just a flicker, of guilt—or triumph? Did she want him to see? Did she plan it?
Liora smiled, that damned smile, her hand lingering on Selene's wrist as though daring him to speak.
Adrian's throat burned. "You…" His voice failed him. He swallowed. "So this is—this is what you—"
Selene rose slowly, her movements precise, deliberate, like the edge of a blade being drawn. "What did you expect, Adrian? That you were the only one?"
Her words were knives. He staggered under them. "I—no—yes—damn it, I don't know what I expected!"
He hated himself. He hated the stammering, the desperation in his tone. He hated the way his body ached even as his mind screamed at him to leave.
Liora's laughter cut through the room. Low, rich, merciless. "He thought you belonged to him, Selene. How quaint. How tragically naïve."
Adrian's fists clenched. He wanted to strike her, silence her, yet he knew he couldn't. He wasn't that kind of man—or perhaps he was, and the thought terrified him.
Selene's gaze softened then, just a touch, enough to torment him. "Adrian," she said quietly, almost tenderly. "You chase too much, you want too much. Desire makes beggars of us all."
He felt the floor tilt beneath him. His chest heaved, his breath short. He wanted to collapse, to scream, to demand an answer that would never come. Instead, he laughed—bitter, cracked, the laugh of a man who realizes too late the joke is on him.
"Fine," he spat. "Fine! Then take each other. Tear each other apart! I— I don't care."
He did care. Every word was a lie, and Selene knew it. Her silence told him so.
He turned, stumbled back into the hall. The door closed behind him, and with it, the last shred of peace he might have clung to.
The corridors stretched endlessly before him. He walked them like a condemned man